


Whiteclaw's Return

by DoubleX



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Apparently nobody knows who his parents are, Artistic licence, Background Character Death, But he was a deputy's apprentice, But inverted, Call it Tigerclaw's Fury But Better™ if you want, Everything in this could have happened, Fire and Ice until Dawn, Gen, He stole the protagonists' immortality apparently, He was written to be a plot device, He's literally only mentioned in Fire and Ice like what the heck, Hopefully you'll like it, I'd actually quite like that, Let's change it, Minor Canonical Character(s), Original Clans (Warriors), Right now, So he was good, That's unfair, enjoy, let's do this, no seriously, plausible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-16 18:42:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11834736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleX/pseuds/DoubleX
Summary: And then he slipped. Back paws flailing around comically in thin air, he began to slide, feeling unyielding rock beneath the spray of mud anchoring him to the edge. A shadow flitted across his vision and for a second, the horrified amber eyes of the young ThunderClan warrior stared into his own. Terrified by the raw guilt he saw there and knowing that he definitely didn't want to die, Whiteclaw blinked back tears and yowled his last to the brightening sky. Sharp teeth brushed his paw as the earth gave way, torn claws and bleeding pads dragged over steep stone. 'Too little, too late," he thought grimly in that final, elongated moment. This was the end. This was his end.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not adding allegiances, mainly because the formatting takes forever and a day but also because it'd be pretty pointless. :) In theory, this should be at least 270 chapters. Yeah...no. It'll follow the same timeline though, roughly, as I've been reasearching as much as possible for the underdeveloped mess that is Whiteclaw. My plan is to help you relate to him, to write as closely to the Hunters' style as I can - so please give this background character a chance to shine! :D

He was close. The water vole's tiny heartbeat, barely audible above the sounds of the rushing river, was barely a tail-length away. Whiteclaw stalked through the towering reeds slowly, wincing as one snapped under his weight with a sharp crack. Alerted, his quarry made to sprint to the safety of its hole - but he was waiting there and killed it with one swift bite. He glanced around proudly, hoping Mosspelt had noticed his rare catch, but she was staring glumly into the river. "What's the matter?" he meowed idly, picking up the water vole and joining the frowning she-cat on the riverbank. The momentary flashes of silver that signaled a fish's presence were all but gone, and Whiteclaw was unnerved. The stars in the sky, the branches on the tree, the fish in the river - these things were as undeniable and unshakeable as the world. No wonder Mosspelt was so shaken.

"The Twolegs," explained the tortoiseshell warrior uneasily, her blue eyes dark with concern as she watched the river's noisy passage. Her whiskers twitched in contempt. "They're still scaring away the fish upriver, and now we have nothing." Whiteclaw was taken aback by the venom in her tone, and swished his tail lightly over the reeds before replying. "We still have water voles! Not to mention shrews, and mice. And Leopardfur is trying to figure out how to stalk birds, too. We'll make it through," he added, nosing around for the slightly squashed mouse he'd caught earlier.

It would be so easy to just eat it, to let it fuel him on his search for more prey. Whiteclaw knew it was his hungry stomach talking, but surely one bite coul-"And if we can't?" Mosspelt interrupted his guilty thoughts, her voice resigned. Whiteclaw glanced down at his paws wordlessly and didn't reply. What could he say?

The answer lay heavy between them like muggy greenleaf air, even though it was nearing leafbare. Because they both knew that WindClan's exile was the only thing that could save RiverClan if any more prey was taken from the river. It didn't sit quite right with Whiteclaw, but surely to not take advantage of extra prey in hard times was foolhardy. Disrespectful, even. "Then we do what we have to do," he mewed evenly, trying to sound more certain than he was. Mosspelt glanced at him searchingly for a long moment, and then turned away to collect her own catch.

Neither warrior said another word until they were back in camp.

* * *

The water around the island was calm, but paw-numbingly cold. Whiteclaw cursed under his breath as he tried to keep his precious catch out of the water, Mosspelt struggling similarly at his side. His paws scrabbled for purchase on the slippery pebbles, and then he was out. The familiar route across the river felt so different without the glossy waterproofing the fish provided, and Whiteclaw's teeth chattered as he dragged the shrew and the water vole through the reeds. Leopardfur was perched above the meagre pickings of the fresh-kill pile with narrowed eyes, dissuading those who had already eaten or hadn't hunted.

Whiteclaw flicked his ears nervously at the thought of what that implied. Loyal cats were getting desperate, and there just wasn't enough prey to go around. But his fears faded as he met the eyes of his former mentor, her gaze softening as she nodded to the retreating Mosspelt. "Very well done, you two, especially considering the conditions," meowed the golden deputy warmly, and Whiteclaw basked in her praise as if he was a young apprentice again. If only. Mosspelt tensed besides him, and he realised that perhaps that wasn't the friendly warrior's train of thought. He brushed his tail over his Clanmate's back comfortingly and looked back up at Leopardfur, who was noting the movement with an unreadable expression.

"You are becoming a fine warrior, Whiteclaw," she continued, looking at him closely as if they'd never met, and he smiled awkwardly. Where was all this praise coming from? Not that he was complaining. "By next newleaf, the nursery will be full again. I know it seems like a long time now, but by the time four seasons have passed I'm sure you will have qualified yourself as a prospective mentor many times over. I will consult Crookedstar this moonrise." She winked. "I'll make a mentor of you yet." Whiteclaw bowed his head respectfully, even as he inwardly celebrated. He would have to tell Blackclaw!

He felt a slight pang, knowing that he would probably be a senior warrior before he had even mentored one apprentice. Blackclaw already had one, and the stocky tabby tom was shaping up well. It was probably something to do with the age gap between him and Blackclaw. But it would be worth the wait, to see his own apprentice have a ceremony like Heavypaw's. He rushed to show his gratitude - "Thank y-" - But Leopardfur's attention was fixed on something behind him, and Whiteclaw mewled like a happy kitten as a familiar cat pushed their way through the reeds. "Whiteclaw! We're back!"

A smoky-black tom barreled into him unceremoniously, laughing delightedly, but his green eyes were downcast and wide and the sound seemed unnatural and forced. Rolling over to flip his denmate onto his back, Whiteclaw licked the lean warrior's shoulder with a grin in an attempt to cheer him up. "Blackclaw! How many rabbits did you catch? Did you see any other Clans? What was the camp like?" Leopardfur shot him a sharp look, and Whiteclaw grudgingly reined in his curiosity as Blackclaw sat up hurriedly to lick his chest fur.

"We caught nothing," spat Stonefur, leading the rest of the patrol into the clearing. Whiteclaw noticed Mosspelt lash her tail and murmur something to Silverstream, and she wasn't the only one. "It's the rabbits themselves," explained the grey tom, scarred ears twitching uncomfortably as he related their failure. "They're too fast, too agile. Even Shadepaw couldn't reach them before they found their burrows," he sighed. "Without practice, we have no hope of catching them." Leopardfur nodded coolly, seemingly unperturbed, but Whiteclaw could see the worry in her eyes. Without another word, she beckoned Stonefur towards Crookedstar's den with a flick of her tail and padded away.

The Clan dissipated into groups and dens, away from the cold weather, until Blackclaw and Whiteclaw were left alone to stand awkardly in the damp air. "Stonefur is way younger than me, but he acts more like a Stoneheart these days," joked the former, and Whiteclaw purred in amusement. "He's still older than me," he pointed out thoughtfully before adding, "That makes you ancient!" To prove his point, he tottered like a frail elder around the piles of pebbles before falling unceremoniously on his haunches.

Blackclaw snorted. "I'm young! And so's Stonefur. That makes you practically a kit!" At that, Whiteclaw shoved him good-naturedly into the reeds, and the green-eyed warrior sputtered helplessly for a moment before collapsing into laughter alongside his best friend. They sat in companionable silence for a while, Whiteclaw trying not to think about the prey shortage and the strange silence of the empty nursery behind them. Mistyfoot stood guard across from them, ears pricked as she scanned the reeds. "Hey, Blackclaw?"

His friend blinked and yawned. "Yeah?" Whiteclaw glanced over the trees at the sunset, pale and unspectacular as it was in the fickle grip of leaf-fall. "If you had kits, what would you call them? Not for any particular reason, I just kind of want to know." The dark grey warrior cocked his head, and Blackclaw looked back at him thoughtfully. "Well, I always liked my father's name. Piketooth. It sounds kind of regal, like a LionClan warrior or something. Maybe Pikekit?"

Whiteclaw's whiskers twitched, and he tried to keep a straight face as he meowed, "Piketooth, how flattering." Despite Blackclaw's half-hearted protests, he added, "Why not go all the way? You could have a Perchkit and a Primrosekit too, make all your descendants perfectly puzzled." Blackclaw chuckled. "You know that's not how it works. They were going to call you Volekit, you know, but you refused to be brown. Stubborn as always." The darker tom looked into the distance silently, tail swishing from side to side. A heartbeat later he added, "What about you?"

Instantly, Whiteclaw replied, "Reedkit. So wherever they are, they'll be reminded of home and their Clanmates. The home they love, and the...the cats they love." It sounded a bit silly out loud, admittedly. But Blackclaw didn't seem to think so, and held his gaze for a long moment before standing up abruptly. "Well, I'm exhausted. Are you coming inside?" He didn't wait for an answer. A flick of his torn ear, and Blackclaw was part of the shadows.

Bemused by his Clanmate's sudden change of heart, Whiteclaw nodded to his best friend's back and padded inside with a friendly blink to Mistyfoot. He wasn't worried about kit names, not at his age. He didn't even really know why he'd asked Blackclaw. They both had all the time in the world to decide these things, after all.

* * *

 Settling down into his nest next to Blackclaw's, Whiteclaw looked up. His best friend was already a quietly breathing shape, and a memory came to mind. His warrior ceremony. Chanting. And above it all, Blackclaw's wide green eyes grinning and congratulating him, welcoming him into the warriors' den. "Finally," the smoky-black warrior had said before his vigil, greeting the newly-named Whiteclaw with a softly waving tail and a smile. "It's both of us. Whiteclaw and Blackclaw. The 'claws. Me and you, against the world. Yeah?"

Blackclaw hadn't been making much sense in his joy, as Whiteclaw had pointed out, but the sentiment was there. Smiling at the thought, the grey tom dislodged a shell fragment from the fur of his white paw and closed his eyes. Life was good. Life was now. Life was forever.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Whiteclaw has a dream, a thought and a problem.

Floating. Whiteclaw was floating, curled up in comforting darkness. He could feel the pelts of his Clanmates pressed against him, their calm scents curling around the camp like a caress from StarClan. Perhaps he was there for a heartbeat, perhaps for seasons, but when a bright light replaced the blackness without warning Whiteclaw yowled in pain and stumbled to his paws, his vision flashing with random colours. What was he standing on? He couldn't even see for a moment, blindly drawing in the rapidly fading scent of his Clanmates. As the fog or whatever it was cleared, Whiteclaw shivered and coughed.

The reeds beneath him were soft and rotten, their stalks spongy against his pads and stinking of decay. The air was cold and unscented, terrifying the young RiverClan warrior as he padded stiffly through a nightmarish mock-up of his home. He was definitely dreaming, thank StarClan. There were no cats, there was no prey. But there was a sound, and even as Whiteclaw turned his ears towards it it overwhelmed him. A piercing scream. The cat behind it sounded young, and the pained sound set him on edge and raised his hackles. _StarClan, no!_  There was another, and then another. Two more horrible yowls, but at least they weren't so...kit-like. And then a different, more comforting sound. A comforting rustling noise that could only be...the river! Whiteclaw could sob, so relieved he was that the awful screeching was over. He stumbled on.

The moon was barely a sliver in the starless black sky, shedding barely enough light to see even his white paw. Whiteclaw had to pause and scent the air every few heartbeats as he picked his way his way towards the water, and his heart felt like it would beat right out of his chest. He rounded a corner, brushing the undergrowth tentatively with his whiskers.

And then there were amber eyes boring into his, shining with grief and their own terrible light. "Leopardfur?" he breathed, frozen in place by fear and the sucking mud below the reeds. "Is that you?" He'd stopped moving to examine the eyes and attempt to scent their owner, but there was only the far-off forest and the dead reeds. The eyes just watched, motionless and horrified in the mist before him, as he began to sink.

"No!" screeched Whiteclaw at the top of his lungs, terrified when the sound didn't echo around the trees acrozs the river. He was staying as still as he could, just like Leopardfur had taught him when they had come across quicksand in newleaf. But this wasn't like that. It was a dream - no, a nightmare - and he just sank faster, legs scrabbling desperately as the stinking mess began to close over his head. "Leopardfur, help! Help me! Leopardfur!" he screeched over and over, choking on slimy stalks and moist clumps of mud. "Help me!"

* * *

Blackclaw was prodding him with sheathed claws, a worried expression twisting his features into an unrecognisable mask. "Whiteclaw! Wake up!" When he noticed Whiteclaw was awake, the black warrior sat back and licked at his chest, composure not yet regained. "I-the reeds, and the eyes, Blackclaw, I was-I was sinking, I was drowning!" Whiteclaw garbled, pressing his muzzle into Blackclaw's fur to hide his unease. A sleepy Stonefur shot him a strange glance before rolling over and settling back down to sleep, thank StarClan. Blackclaw instead flicked his tail over Whiteclaw's mouth, butting his shoulder affectionately.

"It was just a bad dream, you scalebrain," he mewed tiredly, eyes warm. "Go back to sleep, Whiteclaw. Things will look better in the morning. They usua-goodnight." Before Whiteclaw could reply or ask about what Blackclaw had been going to say, his friend was curled up in his nest with his eyes closed and his tail unmoving. Sighing quietly, the grey tom squeezed his own eyes shut and tried to think of apprentices and kits and prey and home. Like any dream, it had been confusing, nonsensical and utterly pointless. But Whiteclaw knew he wouldn't sleep tonight. Not after that.

* * *

When he woke up the next morning with his pelt pressed against Blackclaw's and the latter's tail resting on his back, he just remarked how cold it was to a groggy Wetfoot before slipping outside to try and catch the dawn patrol. Maybe that would soothe his battered nerves.

The clearing was quiet and misty, as if the season was testing its power of the forest. Silverstream padded out of the clearing with a spring in her step and a friendly smile to the assembled cats, and the apprentices began to yawn and whine as they woke up for another day of training. Even the dawn seemed hesitant, beautiful pink clouds scudding across the sky as the sun rose. Leopardfur was just leaving the apprentice's den and casting a pensive look back at Shadepaw, who was trotting along behind her with an oblivious smile. "Good morning, Whiteclaw!" chirped the dark she-cat. "Are you coming on patrol too?"

Before Whiteclaw could nod, Leopardfur meowed, "I'm sure he is, Shadepaw. Do you want to go wake up Stonefur for me so we can go?" A quick nod and the apprentice was gone, noisily crashing through the reeds to fetch her mentor. She would surely be a warrior like her friend Mosspelt soon enough.

"All finesse, that one," Whiteclaw remarked, and Leopardfur's long whiskers twitched. "You're one to talk!" she mewed dryly, but her tone was light and her tail gently swishing back and forth. "How many times have you fallen in the river today?"

"That's not fair!" Chuckling quietly, Whiteclaw remembered the legendary story of when Mosspelt had been training with Shadepaw as Mosspaw and had fallen in herself. "At least I catch fish with my paws," he pointed out, to Leopardfur's amusement. The golden deputy's low laughter was drowned by a horrible screech, and every den was silent with shock as Mudfur staggered out from the reeds. Terror flattened Whiteclaw's ears to his head, and he caught Leopardfur giving him a puzzled look a heartbeat before Mudfur stopped before her. That horrible sound was the last one he'd heard in his dream, he was sure of it!

The medicine cat glared up at the clouds, muttering about blood and horror in the forest in a worrying tone, and turned his gaze not to his deputy but to Whiteclaw. His face was twisted with grief and a gut-churning kind of rage. "This day will bring an unnecessary death," he rasped into the young warrior's ear (within earshot of Leopardfur), and the depth of sad knowledge in eyes was too much, far too much...

Whiteclaw sprinted away to the reeds and began to retch, over and over, horror gripping his senses as he tried to bring up prey he hadn't eaten. The childish yowling he had heard echoed from the water, and for the first time in his life Whiteclaw felt like he was drowning. By the time he could wonder what it all meant, his vision was spattered with pretty coloured spots and Leopardfur was shouting something at him through a fog. Fog...the fog? The fog! Whiteclaw snapped back to reality just in time to leap back from Leopardfur's sheathed claws.

"Good," she mewed tersely, but her voice was hoarse. "I thought I was going to have to strike you!" Quite a crowd had gathered, but as soon as Leopardfur whipped around to glare at them the incident was as good as forgotten. Aside from some confused murmuring, everycat went back to their normal business, except Mudfur...and Blackclaw.

The dark tom looked shaken, but when Whiteclaw asked what was wrong he just shook his head mutely and edged closer to his denmate. Maybe he was ill, Whiteclaw reasoned as he watched the two older cats confer. He could make out snatches of words, "somehow about WindClan" and "keep him away". Finally, Leopardfur turned back to him, her expression an odd mix of grief and anger. "Whiteclaw, this behaviour is unacceptable. You will make up for this lost time on the dawn patrol, and you will stay on patrol duty the rest of the day. You will not leave my side, and under no circumstances will you so much as sniff at the WindClan border. Do you understand?" And she was gone.

Whiteclaw nodded dumbly, licking at his chest fur to try and hide his confusion. What had he done to make her so angry? What had StarClan told her and Mudfur? Was he somehow a threat to WindClan? He wouldn't attack a rival Clan for no reason, surely. Perhaps the omen just meant some random apprentice would hunt prey that they didn't need? Somehow, Whiteclaw doubted that. The hunger in the forest and in the eyes of cats and prey was too strong. He was surprised to find that he was on the edge of tears, and turned away from the clearing with a juddering sigh.

The only thing grounding him was Blackclaw, daring anycat to make eye contact as they waited for Leopardfur to finish her discussion with Crookedstar. "It's going to be okay," the tabby mewed adamantly, refusing to listen when Whiteclaw disagreed. He was talking at full speed, and soon the grey tom just gave up on anything but listening. "You might be a mousebrain, but we're not just going to kick you into StarClan. I-I mean we'll protect you. It's probably just some roadkilled badger, yeah?" Nodding obligingly, Whiteclaw kneaded the soft ground with his paws and vowed not to think about it.

It was just dawn patrol. What could go wrong?


End file.
